


Plausible Denial

by Owlix



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bathing/Washing, Complicated Relationships, Couch Cuddles, Denial of Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlix/pseuds/Owlix
Summary: Thundercracker's not in denial -- there's nothing going on between him and Bee.





	

Thundercracker and Bee sat together on the couch, watching TV.

Nothing was going on between them. Sure, Bee was tucked up against Thundercracker’s side, but that didn’t mean anything. The couch wasn’t all that big. Thundercracker had a wide wingspan. And Bee was a minibot who fit perfectly against Thundercracker’s side. No matter how they sat, Bee would be rubbing up against Thundercracker’s wing. This way, at least, was comfortable.

Bee had instigated it. He’d shoved his way into that position one night in the dark, as if he thought Thundercracker wouldn’t notice as long as he did it with the lights off.

Thundercracker _had_ noticed. He hadn’t been touched in a long time. Not really. His sensor net had been on tenterhooks having another mech so close, electromagnetic interference tangling with his in a teasing not-quite touch. The first time Bee’s plating had pushed against his own, Thundercracker’s sensors lit up like like a lightning strike. They still did, every time.

He played it cool. That was Thundercracker’s specialty, remaining calm when things got serious or dangerous and everyone else was completely losing it. That was how Thundercracker had survived this long. That was how he was surviving _this_ too. Playing it cool. Acting like this kind of casual touch was normal. Like he felt it every day. Like he didn’t need it.

Thundercracker pulled his electromagnetic field in tight and let one arm lay heavy around Bee, like it was no big deal. He resisted the urge to pull him in closer. He remained still. Bee shifted against him, warm and comfortable, his electromagnetic field soft and open.

When it became too much, Thundercracker disentangled himself. Bee let him. Thundercracker tried not to be disappointed by that. He leaned forward, reaching across the table for some snacks that he didn’t actually want. He could feel Bee watching him. When he glanced backwards, Bee’s optics were tracing his back, lingering at his engines and his wings.

“You need maintenance,” Bee said, concern in his voice.

Thundercracker bristled. Bee couldn’t know, he told himself. He was a grounder, a simple little car. He couldn’t know what he was saying.

“Of course I need maintenance,” Thundercracker said. The words came out angry and bitter. “I don’t have a trine any more.”

Bee smiled, optics going wide. “Oh! Is that what that’s all about? I’d always wondered.”

It wasn’t. Sure, jet-alt mechs needed more outside help than someone like a tank or a car. They were precision instruments, and they couldn’t reach their own wings. Mutual maintenance was one of many benefits of a trine relationship. But it wasn’t “what it was all about” – not by a longshot.

That was none of Bee’s business. He wasn’t a Seeker. He wasn’t a ‘con. He was an Autobot _ground vehicle_ , prying into things that he couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ understand.

“Guess it makes sense,” Bee said, oblivious to Thundercracker’s discomfort. Or pretending to be. “Helping each other like that. Jets probably need way more maintenance than an alt like mine.”

“Yes,” Thundercracker said stiffly. “We do.” He picked up the bowl of snacks that Bee had brought, scowled down at it, then put it back on the table.

He could still feel Bee staring at him. When he finally glanced back again, Bee was watching him with this little half-smile, painfully open, overtly compassionate. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. It was uncomfortable to look at. Thundercracker wanted to turn away, but he didn’t.

“I could help,” Bee said. He hesitated, then put one hand on Thundercracker’s wing. “I have small hands. I’m good at this kind of stuff.”

Thundercracker shook him off. Bee didn’t try to cling. His open expression fell, just a bit. His big blue optics dimmed, and his smile faded.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to. I mean, I get it. I just thought…” Bee shifted back on the couch, looked down at his own hands in his lap, and nodded to himself. “Yeah. Shouldn’t have offered. Nevermind.”

Fragger. For a moment Thundercracker hated him. But it made more sense to hate himself. He had let Bee in, a series of sad little mistakes that had led him here. He had caused this. Bee was just taking advantage. The way Thundercracker had known he would, right from the start.

“I want you to,” Thundercracker said, hating himself for every word.

 

 

Bee _was_ good at it, too. That was the worst part.

He sat at Thundercracker’s back, legs folded under himself, cleaning years of grime from the joint of his left aileron. One small hand rested on Thundercracker while the other worked, small fingers picking at stubborn bits of dirt and scraping off damaged layers of topcoat to assist Thundercracker’s autorepair.

It felt like heaven. Like scratching an itch he couldn’t reach after years of trying to ignore it. It was all Thundercracker could manage just to stay quiet and still.

Bee hummed as he worked. Some pre-war pop song that Thundercracker hadn’t heard in at least a million years and had forgotten the name of. It should have been annoying, but it wasn’t.

Thundercracker closed his eyes. Bee moved his aileron back and forth, no hesitation in his touch at all. He seemed unaware of the intimacy of what he was doing. That suited Thundercracker just fine; this was already too much, far further than he’d expected to take this. Better if Bee didn’t seem to get just how far.

Bee slid his hand down Thundercracker’s wing and rested it on his flap. He rocked it back and forth, working out dirt, scrubbing at the joint with a soft cloth.

It felt far too good; those hands on his wings, that pleasant warm weight at his back, that careful touch in sensitive places. Being cared for. Sensations Thundercracker hadn’t felt in years. It was embarrassing, just how good it felt. Thundercracker reined his electromagnetic field in tight, thankful that Bee couldn’t see his face.

It could almost have been Skywarp at his back, except Bee’s pitch was perfect; Skywarp always sang slightly off-key. And Skywarp’s hands were bigger, the same size as Thundercracker’s. And Skywarp wouldn’t have been so careless with Thundercracker’s wings. He knew what those parts meant, what it felt like to have someone shift them. Knew what it felt like because he _shared_ them, not because he’d learned it from… wherever Bee had learned it.

It could almost have been Skywarp, but it wasn’t. Thundercracker refused to let himself forget that.

“You know your way around a jet,” Thundercracker said. He realized how it sounded after he said it and hoped Bee wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

Bee just laughed. “Told you,” he said. “I’m good at this stuff.”

It was a fact with uncomfortable implications; Bee had been trained as a saboteur for the other side. A sobering though. “I’ll try not to think about why.”

Thundercracker could almost _feel_ Bee rolling his optics. “We’ve got jets in our faction too, you know.”

“None like me.”

Thundercracker waited for Bee to argue. He didn’t. Instead he laughed, soft and pleasant, and patted Thundercracker on the shoulder. “None like you,” he agreed; blatant flattery, no matter how sincere it sounded. Thundercracker hated the way it still made his spark warm.

Bee leaned forward to clean the nozzle of Thundercracker’s engine, a steady weight against his back. He couldn’t easily get access, not unless Thundercracker shifted to let him.

Bee waited, patient and undemanding. After a moment, Thundercracker bent forward to let him in.


End file.
